


Leave Before the Lights Come On

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breaking Up & Making Up, Dirty Dancing, Friends With Benefits, Graduation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Panic Attacks, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6424552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a judgement, Hajime— God sees all.” </p><p>“It’s a bit late to bring him into this now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Before the Lights Come On

**Author's Note:**

> Tooru cries a lot in this, and he sort of has a panic attack. I just wanted to be safe. It starts at 'Tooru sniffled beside him.' and ends with 'His mother was out of the house, and it was quiet.' if you want to skip that scene. It's fairly short, though. 
> 
> Music wise, here's what they listen to in the club: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPL3NLsP__k
> 
> and here's what they have emotional hand jobs to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fAzM5cI5FM

Oikawa Tooru wasn’t strong— metaphorically and physically, Hajime thought. Tooru hid it well, though, underneath all these layers, layers of jumpers and raincoats and artificial, symmetrical smiles and empty laughs, but in the end, Hajime only had to touch his wrist and feel the jut of his bones, there, and know that he could break them in half if he wanted to.

He had larger palms than Tooru, too, and he knew he could break him, truly ruin him. It was a possibility, and it created this underlying current between them, and when Hajime thought about it, hunching over his desk in the evening over textbooks and worksheets and papers and pens, he got half-hard in his pyjamas, and it made him feel far younger than he really was.

He thought of Tooru. He thought about getting Tooru underneath him, or maybe on top of him, and he felt his throat close and pulse pound in his veins. He wanted him, and Hajime had this drive, this ambition that was seldom denied.

 It happened like this, in the end: Tooru finished his last serve, it was an hour after practice ended, his teammates all long gone into the night, save for Hajime, of course, and they were changing now, in the locker room. A light flickered above them. Hajime was watching Tooru’s shoulders, the way his shoulder blades shifted when he moved his arms. Tooru was lean, muscular, surely, and yet, he was still slim, muscles stretching like wires under his pale skin and over his jutting bones.

Tooru turned his head to meet Hajime’s stare, then, with those dark irises hidden under full lashes, and Hajime looked at Tooru’s neck, then, truly _looked_ at it. It was pale and unmarked, and it reminded Hajime of a clean, sleek slice of marble.

Hajime wanted him. He was tired and exhausted from practice and school and he was practically shaking with fatigue, and yet, all he could think about is marking up Tooru’s neck.

“I’d like to take you home,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

The implication and hidden, laced meaning of the phrase hung heavy in the air, straining the atmosphere. It was almost electric, the way Tooru looked at Hajime, and Hajime looked right back, too, his stare not wavering— one false move and Tooru would laugh, hollowly, and blow it off as a joke, even though he knew it wasn’t.

Tooru blinked at him, then, and his lips formed a thin line. His pupils dilated a little, though other than that, he barely reacted.

“Alright,” he replied after some deliberation.

He pulled his shirt over his head, breaking their locked gazes, and Hajime could only watch the way his hair got hitched on the collar of his t-shirt. Hajime got dressed then, too, and it was silent between them, even when walking out of the locker room together and locking up. There was no careful distance between them, shoulders touching. Tooru was so close to Hajime it almost hurt that Hajime could reach out and grab his hand, pull him against his chest and trail his fingers along his skin, down his neck and across his shoulders and simply _everywhere_.

Outside, under the night sky, it was quiet again, until Hajime put a hand on Tooru’s arm, slim and delicate under his palm, and Tooru stopped walking, then. He looked into his eyes, and he swore the stars above reflected in them. Tooru breathed in then, and it was shaky. Hajime could feel his breath his jaw in warm puffs.

This close, Hajime could see everything Tooru was and ever will be— his eyes trailed down the slant of his nose and jaw, how he had a little bit of chin ache from touching his skin there, a nervous habit, and how his eyelashes weren’t long, really, just dark and full. He could even see the array of freckles that dusted Tooru’s cheeks, and he thought about the constellations in the stars above them.

He could smell everything, too— the scent of Tooru’s deodorant, of flowers, because he bought it from the women’s section, and bitter coffee from his lunch, since he was tired, too, and the linger of sweat from practice, though Hajime didn’t mind. Some people simply smelt amazing when they sweated. Tooru was one of them.

Tooru leaned closer towards Hajime, then, lips bent to his ear.

“Hajime,” he whispered, “If you’re going to kiss me, do it now.”

Hajime did.

He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Tooru’s face, fingers pressing into his cheeks and jaw line, and pressed his lips against his, just like that. Tooru gasped a little, out of surprise or protest, it was hard to tell, and he pushed towards Hajime, then, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and opening his mouth towards him. He was warm, and his lips were a little chapped.

Tooru pulled away just in time to allow Hajime to watch the inhale and exhale of Tooru’s chest. He smelt of flowers and artificial, sweet perfume.

“Was that your first kiss?” whispered Tooru, and he had the audacity to grin.

Hajime frowned and merely pulled him towards him, almost violently so, and he thought about how thin Tooru’s wrists were. Tooru licked his lips and stared back into his eyes, irises glimmering in the night. He had this familiar, calculating look in his eyes, as though he knew and always will know exactly what Hajime wanted to do, which, in that moment was nothing more than to hold Tooru close to him once more.

“You should probably kiss me again, Hajime,” said Tooru, and Hajime did exactly that, pulling him closer by his wrist and wrapping his other arm around Tooru’s waist. Tooru grabbed hold of Hajime’s face with one hand, cold from his horrid circulation, though Hajime ignored it in favour of savouring Tooru’s mouth, warm and wet, and tongue, sliding against his in an obscene way.

Tooru’s eyes were like black disks, and Hajime felt that he’d won an unspoken battle that had begun when he and Tooru met all those years ago.

He reached for Tooru’s hand, then, trailing his fingers down his wrist. Tooru’s slim fingers interlaced with his own, and though Tooru’s fingers were soft, his palms were calloused and felt as rough as Hajime’s own. Their hands fit— _they_ fit, Hajime thought, and he could not stop himself from tracing his thumb along Tooru’s jutting knuckles. It felt temporary, though, and it hurt Hajime’s heart far too much.

Tooru licked his lips and stared down at the ground, and it was silent, then.

The next time Tooru met Hajime’s stare was in Hajime’s bedroom, in the dark, and he drew his fingers out of Hajime’s sweaty grip.

Hajime looked at Tooru. Tooru looked back at Hajime.

They were silent. Hajime swallowed thickly.

Tooru opened his mouth, briefly, as though he was considering to say something, _anything_ , but decided it against it, until he asked, “Do you want to fuck me, Hajime?”, and Hajime was, for the first time in years, incredibly thankful for Tooru’s ability to mesmerizingly read others and know their innermost thoughts and desires, and his filthy mouth.

Hajime blushed, and finally answered hoarsely, “Yeah, I do.”

Tooru nodded then, and he stepped closer towards Hajime once more. Hajime inhaled sharply, and he felt that Tooru’s mere proximity was intoxicating; the way Hajime could have counted Tooru’s eyelashes, if he wanted to, or all of his faint freckles, if he hadn’t already known that he had, in fact, fifty-seven. He counted them long ago, while sleeping over at Tooru’s and Tooru had been asleep, then, blissfully unconscious. Hajime always thought he looked so much younger when he was asleep.

Tooru wasn’t unconscious now, though, and he seemed millenniums older than he truly was, the way he peeling off his clothes with expertise, and how he stepped closer towards Hajime with inane confidence, hands and fingers sliding under Hajime’s shirt and tracing along his spin as Hajime shivered. He pulled off Hajime’s shirt, then, and unzipped his pants, pulling those down, too, until they were simply standing and staring at each other again, in their underwear.

“I don’t need to ask if you’ve done this before, do I?” asked Hajime.

“No,” Tooru replied, and his lips tugged up into a smile, leering and canine and fiercely dangerous, “You know everything about me, don’t you, Hajime?”

Tooru didn’t really give him an answer. Instead, he trailed his fingers along Hajime’s chest, downwards towards his abdomen, and then leaned forward to press his lips against the hot skin of Hajime’s throat and neck, kissing and biting.

He found himself manhandled back onto the bed, and Tooru simply pressed closer to him, holding him tightly, surely leaving marks, and Hajime did the same, pushing a hand into Tooru’s hair and pulling his head up towards him to kiss him once more.

Tooru moaned, obscenely so, and pushed Hajime onto the bed, climbing into his lap. Hajime could feel the warmth of Tooru’s thighs and his cock against his own, obviously hard, and the sensation sent little shocks up and down his spin. Hajime groaned, loudly, and Tooru shifted his hips towards him, gasping into his mouth.

“Fuck,” said Tooru, “I’ve wanted to do this to you for ages.”

“Yeah?” Hajime replied, and he pulled off Tooru’s shirt, attaching his mouth to the newly exposed collarbones.

“Yeah,” Tooru laughed, and it sounded so nice to Hajime’s ears he felt his heart skip a beat.

“For how long?” asked Hajime.

“ _Ah_ ,” Tooru moaned as Hajime bit behind his ear, leaving a already dark and blooming mark, a sign of permanence, really, “Probably— probably since that time we played spin-the-bottle at Issei’s birthday party, or at least since summer, when we went swimming. _God_ , Hajime,” he groaned, “You looked so fucking _good_.”

Hajime hummed in agreement as Tooru ran his hands up and down his chest, palms scalding hot against his skin.

“You looked pretty good, too,” Hajime said, though he made a less intelligence sound when Tooru’s fingers grazed his nipple. Hajime kissed along his sternum, and Tooru squirmed.

“ _Hajime_ ,” he moaned, “Hajime, _please_.”

Hajime licked his lips, and at the sight of Tooru’s slim body tensing underneath his touch, and the sound of Tooru’s breathless gasps, he took off his shirt and got himself naked in an impressive amount of time, crawling over Tooru’s body and pulling down his trousers.

Tooru moaned once more, and reached up to lace his fingers into Hajime’s hair once more, pressing his lips against his own and breathing into his mouth, hot and heavy. Hajime’s arms hedged him in, and they shook a little as Tooru bit into his lower lip, tugging at it slowly. Hajime moaned once more, and he rutted towards Tooru, palming his thighs and pulling him flush against him, their cocks touching again, and this time bare.

“Shit,” Hajime said, realising that he was already embarrassingly close to coming. Tooru moaned underneath him, and tossed his head back, choking on yet another breathless groan.

“Fuck,” Hajime swore once more, “ _Tooru_.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, voice faulting in pitch, and it sounded far too erotic. Hajime felt his grip on soundness and reality falter— the way Tooru tipped his head back and bared his neck was intoxicating, and he felt as though he were drowning in Tooru, all of Tooru.

It was far too much, and yet far too little as well. He pulled himself away, then, encouraging Tooru to roll onto his stomach, and Tooru complied. Hajime stroked his palms along Tooru’s thin spine, pale skin soft under his touch, and he draped himself over his back, sliding his cock between his ass cheeks and rubbing. Tooru moaned loudly, and Hajime graced him with an undignified noise in retaliation.

“Hajime,” Tooru groaned, and Hajime decided that he would never tire of the sound of those three syllables coming out of Tooru’s kiss-swollen mouth, “God, _Hajime_ — come on, fuck me. You know you want to,” he bucked towards Hajime, “ _Fuck me, Hajime_.”

Hajime pressed his forehead against Tooru’s shoulder and exhaled shakily.

“I am going to fuck you until you can’t get another word out of that mouth of yours,” he said, voice rough, and Tooru fisted the sheets, pushing back against Hajime’s hips. Hajime rutted towards him once more, and he groaned, loudly, pressing his palms against the smooth expanse of Tooru’s ass and lower back, trailing his hands up his waist, along the jutting bones of his ribs and down to his hips, then pressing the tip of his finger into Tooru’s hole.

 “ _Ah_ ,” Tooru moaned, “Oh, God— _Hajime_ —”

The pressure proved to be too much. He came right away, muffling his voice into the pillow and clenching around Hajime’s finger.

Hajime jerked off, breathing hot and heavy into Tooru’s shoulder, biting into his neck, and he came all over Tooru’s pale back, littered with a few moles, here and there, and one larger one on his right shoulder blade. Hajime thought of Tooru’s beloved constellations, and he thought of the universe and of time and of all sort of huge, big ideas. Tooru made him think of things like that.

“That was sort of unhygienic, Hajime,” Tooru said, “You should wash your hands.”

Hajime hummed in agreement and trailed his fingers up and down Tooru’s spine as he watched him slowly drift to sleep. Hajime fell asleep soon after that, next to Tooru. He hadn’t dared to touch him.

Tooru left in the morning before Hajime woke up, and before Hajime had a chance to turn on the lights in his bedroom or open up the curtains and see how the sun reflected in Tooru’s eyes and hair.

They didn’t speak that weekend.

Hajime didn’t sleep well those nights.

He felt alone and incredibly confused and haunted by Tooru’s voice and how warm his skin felt underneath his fingertips and how nice the moles on his back and the light freckles on his cheeks looked and his _moans_ —

He jerked off a lot those nights.

 

The next time he saw him was on Monday, in the early morning at school.

 Tooru seemed to be torn between avoiding Hajime entirely and incessantly staring at him. He could feel his gaze prickle against his neck in English, though in lunch, Tooru had ducked away and talked to some anonymous classmate about goddamn homework.

The crescendo of Tooru’s disparity was reached in practice.

He simply was not able to toss to Hajime, and it was truly unsettling, because he used to be able to toss to him in his sleep. He was good, like that. It was a permanent mechanism between them. Hajime was unable to spike, too.

They both stayed after practice, and after Tooru’s third serve in a row that was blatantly out of bounds, Hajime felt all the strings inside him break.

He pulled at the front of Tooru’s uniform, pulling him closer to him, and Tooru lifted his hand to grasp at Hajime’s fist. He was huffing his breath, now, and Hajime could feel it on his chin and across his lips, fanning out all over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, though he spat out the words with such force it sounded more like a simple statement.

Tooru swallowed thickly, and he was silent, for a moment.

“I’m practicing, Hajime,” he replied, voice hoarse, “Can’t you tell?”

“ _No_ ,” said Hajime, “The only thing I can fucking tell is that you’re one serve away from another trip to the hospital.”

Hajime felt Tooru’s grip on his fist loosen, and his hands were shaking now. His breath was rapid, and Hajime felt his own facial expression drop along with his heart.

“Hey,” Hajime hushed, and with a shaking voice as Tooru’s breath stuttered and came out in quick and aching gasps, said with painful desperation, “Tooru— are you— come on—”

Tooru’s gaze dropped down, and then his eyes shut completely. Hajime pried his fist out of the front of Tooru’s shirt and Tooru’s knees buckled, then, giving out completely as he fell to the floor in a shaking, sobbing mess. Hajime fell with him.

He let Tooru cry into his shoulder and he stayed close, raking a hand through Tooru’s hair in an effort to calm him. Tooru’s skin was warm, and their bodies pressed together. His chest was so close to Tooru’s he could feel his heart beat, and Tooru could probably feel his, too, pounding with illuminating rapidity.

Tooru’s practice jersey and Hajime’s worn t-shirt; two layers between them.

It took two hours for Tooru to stop trembling incessantly.

Hajime didn’t dare to move even after he felt Tooru shift his body and lift his head from Hajime’s shoulder, sniffling a little. His eyes were red and irritated.

“Hajime— _Hajime_ ,” he whimpered.

“I’m here,” he replied, “I’m right here, Tooru— I always will be.”

Hajime could feel his fingers dig into his spine and shoulders. Tooru nodded and let out a broken sob.

The next morning, Tooru wore glasses in school. His eyes must have been too irritated to wear contacts. The sight made Hajime’s heart ache. He was hunched over his desk, all alone, too, and he seemed to be almost melting into the table. His hair was greasy, too.

“Hey, Tooru,” Hajime greeted him, “You alright?”

Tooru’s spine straightened.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’m fine.”

Hajime didn’t ask further— he knew he wasn’t.

“You should come over tonight,” Hajime said, and Tooru’s frown briefly faltered, “We’ll watch a film, or something, and I’ll— I’ll cook for you.”

“You’ll cook for me?” Tooru asked slowly and hesitantly.

“Yeah,” he answered, “I’ll cook for you.”

“Oh,” said Tooru in a painfully miniscule voice. Tooru smiled, then— slowly, and then all at once. “You’ll give me food poisoning, Hajime.” he said.

Hajime smiled, then, too, and he couldn’t hide his grin for the rest of the day, even though he wasn’t sure why, though it didn’t really matter, not when Tooru was smiling, too, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about it on the way home, not when Tooru let him hold his hand, warm and tight. His hand was sweating, and if Tooru noticed, he didn’t care.

“Are your parents home?” Tooru asked as Hajime unlocked and pushed opened the front-door.

Hajime turned his head towards him.

“No,” he said, “Why do you ask?”

Tooru snorted, then, and let go of his hand. Hajime’s fingers felt alarmingly cold.

“No reason,” he answered, prying his shoes off and walking towards Hajime’s sofa, “I just wanted to know.”

Hajime hummed in agreement as he put his own shoes off, too, dropping them next to Tooru’s own, and he felt his chest tighten at the sight. It was too damn domestic.

“What do you want to eat?” Hajime asked, motioning towards the kitchen.

“I don’t care,” he answered, turning on the television and sprawling himself across the sofa, “Whatever you’ve got in the fridge.”

Hajime nodded and trotted over to the roaring machine to open it. Sticking his head in, he shouted, “I could heat up some noodles and meat.”

Tooru laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like _cooking_ for me, but sure,” he said, “Bring me a beer, too— I know you’ve got some lying around. You always do.”

Hajime sighed and stuck the food in the microwave. He got out two beers and opened them, tapping towards the sofa.

“Here,” he said, and handed one to Tooru, who thanked him and took a sip, humming in accordance. The television lit his face strangely, and he was watching some documentary. The kind with air-horn effects and dramatics. The kind that Tooru loved.

It reminded Hajime of the summer— their first kiss was long before any of this happened. It was when they were sixteen, in the summertime, when it was humid and sizzling with heat and the cicadas were humming their constant tune.

Hajime was at Tooru’s place, because they had air-conditioning, and they were watching T.V., Tooru’s legs slung over Hajime’s lap. Hajime was resting his palms on Tooru’s thighs, unsure of where else to place them. He was so goddamn nervous, even though it felt so familiar, sitting there with Tooru watching a miscellaneous episode of Pokémon.

There was an explosion and some sound effects on the screen. It reflected on Tooru’s face, creating these strange and sudden shadows that were almost threatening or frightening. Hajime was terrified, anyhow. Tooru had this habit of making Hajime nervous and uncertain and s _cared_.

Tooru had turned his head, then, and caught Hajime’s stare. It felt unreal, as though he was seeing everything unfold before him in slow-motion, a disconnected reality. He paused the T.V.

Tooru leaned forward, hand on either side of Hajime’s head, and kissed him, there and then.

Their lips touched; zero layers between them.

Hajime froze. Tooru looked at him.

He drew back and resumed the episode.

The metaphorical sense of the action was not lost on Hajime. Tooru had always coated his words in complex layers with hidden symbolisms.

In retrospect, Hajime wasn’t sure why he had frozen up and remained motionless, when he wanted nothing more but to jump up and grasp Tooru’s hands and shout, ‘ _Be mine!_ ’. He didn’t, though, and so, everything remained just as it had been, with those stares and glances and elongated touches and how he noticed thin Tooru’s wrists were and ‘ _God, I could break you, couldn’t I?_ ’ ‘ _Yeah— I know._ ’— but that was long ago, and in the kitchen, the microwave beeped incessantly.

“Are you going to get that, Hajime?” Tooru quipped, turning his head to face him.  

“Yeah,” he said absently after a pause, “I will.”

Tooru turned his attention back to the screen, then, and only faulted it when Hajime returned with two plates and cutlery, handing one to Tooru. Hajime sat next to him.

Their thighs touched. Hajime’s trousers, and Tooru’s uniform slacks, his underwear and Hajime’s boxers; four layers between them. Hajime felt his skin flush, pricking all over.

When he looked up, Tooru was staring at him, and then his eyes flickered back to his food. Hajime swallowed thickly, and they ate in silence. It felt strange, eating together— it was so intimate that Hajime was half expecting a candle between them, but there wasn’t one, there was only the T.V. droning on about conspiracies.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Tooru asked, and Hajime felt himself pulled back into reality, turning his head to watch Tooru stare absently at the screen.

“What is?”

Tooru blinked, once or twice, before answering, “Nothing.”

Hajime frowned, and shifted closer to Tooru.

“No. It’s never ‘ _nothing_ ’,” he mocked, “It’s always more than that.”

Tooru’s breath halted audibly.

“What universities did you apply to, Hajime?” he asked.

“What’s— what’s that got to do with anything? I thought you didn’t want to know—”

“What universities did you apply to?” he repeated, though his tone was more urgent, now, almost angry.

Hajime swallowed thickly and squared his jaw.

“Tsukuba,” said Hajime, “Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. Why does it matter?”

Tooru bit his lip.

“I knew it.” he said quietly.

“ _What_ did you know?” Hajime asked, “ _Tooru_ —”

“It’s nothing, really—” Tooru wavered.

“ _Tooru_ —”

“I said it’s nothing!” he shouted, “ _God,_ Hajime!”

He frowned, then, and took a long drink of his beer.

“God,” Tooru whispered once more, “I just wish— I wish I had more time.”

“More time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, “More time.”

They were silent, then, for a while.

“I don’t think we’re going to go to the same university, Hajime,” he said, “I’m going to do law, you’re starting with medicine— I might get scouted, and you could, too, and it’s all... it’s statistically unlikely, you know.”

Hajime shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

“Fuck statistics,” he said, “The stars were aligned against us from day one, Tooru.”

Tooru barked out a laugh, then, because it was true, to some extent. They met on accident, at the playground, and their mothers didn’t like each other, originally. They’d met in secret, after that, or, at least as much in secret as a seven year old could. Hajime almost attended a different class in elementary school. Tooru almost went to a different junior high. He almost was convinced to go to Shiratorizawa. They weren’t meant to be together, in that sense, and yet, here they were, so maybe it was fate and nothing more.

Hajime could remember nothing else, and his eyes were cloudy and distracted, and he knows that Tooru, too, was reminiscing of the past, remembering every detail of it, because his memory was good like that. He got caught up in the past far too often— he always believed that he could repeat it, endlessly and easily, and Hajime didn’t know what to say to make Tooru feel simply better. He wanted to tell him everything would be alright, but that was a lie, and Tooru hated liars.

“Do you want to watch something else?” he asked instead, and Tooru shrugged, and so, Hajime simply sighed and leaned back into the sofa. Tooru shifted, too, resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder and playing with his hand, his pale, slim fingers contrasting to the tan, broad expanse of Hajime’s skin. He turned Hajime’s palm around and trailed his fingertips over his knuckles. Hajime bit back a shiver, and Tooru looked up at him. He was smiling at him as though he had said something incredibly profound, or like Hajime was a fucking miracle, or something.

Hajime felt so disarmed it was frightening. He felt his whole face go hot. He tried to desperately halt the thought coming into his head, they were graduating soon and in this sort of friends-with-benefits relationship, but not _really_ , and stuck in this limbo for _years_ , but he couldn’t, and so the only thing in his mind abruptly was ‘ _God, I am so in love— I am so in love— **I am so in love**._ ’

It was slightly insane and incredibly dangerous. Hajime’s palms were sweating, and Tooru was still staring at him with that ridiculous smile on his face. In desperation, Hajime tried to change the subject.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah,” replied Tooru, “Why?”

“I thought... I thought we could spend some time together, y’know, before we....,” Hajime trailed off. He didn’t want to say it. He was too damn scared.

“Alright.” Tooru said, and that was that. Hajime sighed, and Tooru leaned against him, head heavy on his shoulder, and Hajime thought his heart was going to burst, it was beating so goddamn fast, though it was comforting, in a sense.

“You should stay.” Hajime said slowly, “Tonight, I mean.”

“Sure.” replied Tooru, with minimal conviction, and Hajime felt his eyes closed, lids heavy.

Hajime woke up with his cheek pressed against the rough material of his sofa.

Tooru had left before the lights came on.

 

He ended up meeting Tooru the same day after sending him a text message asking whether he was alright and whether he wanted to get food, or something. Tooru agreed and Hajime showed up at his front door moments later, knocking until his mother opened up and told him Tooru was upstairs, he didn’t sleep well and was tired and he’d be happy to see him. His mother liked Hajime. Hajime nodded and walked up the stairs.

He didn’t bother knocking and simply opened the door. Tooru’s blinds were drawn, and his room was dark, illuminated only by the small screen in his room. He had his headphones on. The sound of the game he was watching with inept concentration drowned out the sound of Hajime’s footsteps as he walked closed to Tooru.

“Karasuno again, huh?” said Hajime, frown evident in his tone, and Tooru jumped, pushing off his headphones and staggering to stand. His eyes were red and his legs buckled underneath him.

“Yeah, I...” Tooru’s voice was fragile.

“You’ll never play them again, you know that, right?”

“I _do_ know that,” he replied, quickly, “I didn’t know you’d come so early, Hajime—” Tooru said, and his voice was wavering. He let loose a weak laugh, and echoed in the room.

 “It’s not early. It’s eleven.” Hajime said. He clenched his fist beside his thighs only to let them relax once more.

“It is.” Tooru replied. Hajime swallowed thickly and licked his lips.

“You were crying earlier.” said Hajime.

“I _wasn’t_.”

“You _were_. Your eyes are red.” replied Hajime.

“My eyes are irritated.” Tooru said, and he was frowning now.

“They are, because you were crying.”

Tooru didn’t reply after that. He didn’t know what to say.

“Come on,” said Hajime, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Tooru frowned and followed him, regardless. They put on their shoes in silence. His shoulder was cold against Hajime’s, and they were still silent until they were out on the street once more. They were alone.

“I don’t know how I’ll survive on my own,” Tooru laughed hollowly, “You always take care of me, Hajime.”

“You’ll be fine.” Hajime replied quietly. Tooru sniffled beside him. He stopped walking.

“Tooru—” he began, though his voice caught in his throat as he heard the rapid breaths coming from deep inside Tooru’s chest. He tore his head around to look at him, and he could feel the moment he felt his heart shatter into a thousand microscopic pieces. Tooru’s face was flushed, and tears were streaming down his face, now, snot, too. His chest heaved with the effort, and he covered his eyes and mouth with one hand, almost slapping his face in sheer _frustration_.

Hajime knew what would happen next all too well; Tooru’s feet wavered underneath him, and he was falling, quickly, into Hajime’s arms. He was entirely limp. He sobbed into Hajime’s shoulder, breath coming all too fast, and yet, he could still make these noises, these noises of sheer pain and anger and fear, sort of a mix between a scream and a sob.

“Tooru,” he repeated, softer, this time, and he sunk down to the ground, Tooru falling on top of him. He was shaking, now.

“C’mon, Tooru,” he said, voice breaking, “Just— just let me—”

It was hopeless, though. Tooru couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even breathe. All Hajime could do was let Tooru lie against him, with his head dug deep into his shoulder, and wait until he could breath, a little. He ran his hands up and down his spine. He was too damn used to this.

It took Tooru an hour until he stopped crying. It took him another half an hour until he stopped shaking. Hajime took him home, then, letting Tooru limp against him, hand around his waist.

His mother was out of the house, and it was quiet. Hajime dropped Tooru onto his bed and turned around.

“I wish we had one last shot,” said Tooru, “Just— one more _time_.”

Hajime licked his lips and frowned.

“Stay,” said Tooru weakly, “Please— please stay, Hajime, I need you—”

 His throat constricted.

“I can’t.” he replied, and it was the single hardest words he’d ever said. It hurt, and it felt wrong, and he wanted to do nothing more than to stay, but it was better this way, he told himself. It was better for Tooru, and for him and his aching heart and shaking hands. Tooru was trembling a little, too.

Hajime had a hand on the door, though he hadn’t opened it. He looked back at Tooru, who was sitting up now, and staring back at Hajime. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked like shit, really, and yet, he was still so _beautiful_. The sleeve of his jumper had risen up, and there were his wrists again, slender and white and jutted. He’d break him, Hajime thought, and Tooru would let him, and _isn’t that how it started, really?_

Eventually, Hajime opened the door.

“Goodnight, Tooru.” he said.

He shut the door, and Tooru was alone, then.

The door, the sleeves of Hajime’s shirt, the ends of Tooru’s sweater; too many layers between them.

 

Hajime tried to forget about what had happened. They didn’t speak until school, once more, and Tooru tried to act all normal, and all, with that facade of his. He’d perfected it, truly. Hajime found it horrible.

When the forbidding idea of university crawled out of the shadows and reached towards him, Hajime decided he’d start with sports medicine. He liked medicine, helping others, and such, and, whilst he liked volleyball, pursuing it as a career was just not for him. It was a hobby, and nothing more. He could not picture himself waking up every morning to play, to have nothing drive him in life but the feeling of the court and the rush of adrenaline that flooded him when he hit a spike.

Tooru, on the other hand, lived and breathed for that exuberance. He applied for law, though, at his parent’s demand. Law was his fallback. Hajime thought it was strange for someone to decide to willingly choose such demanding and horrific careers, the kind that ate you up from the inside out.

Tooru wanted that. He needed it. He had that self-destructive personality.

The epicentre of this trait was demonstrated at graduation, after the ceremony and the dinner and the many, _many_ formalities, in a nightclub in Sendai, with the team and their classmates and friends and such.

Hajime wasn’t one for going out. He never had been. He drank some beers and smoked half a cigarette and talked and laughed with everyone, because there was that underlying current of the fact that he’d likely never see the others again, or at least in this way, with all of them together.

Tooru thought the same; all of this imaging of the future, of _their_ future, brought on this sense of nostalgia for him.

“My life has got to be like this.” he shouted over the bar to Issei, who merely took a shot and nodded at Tooru’s drunken nonsense, “It’s got to keep going on.”

Hajime took a sip of his beer and watched him as Takahiro jostled his shoulder. Tooru watched him, too, and they locked gazes. He walked towards him, then, and Tooru simply seemed off, the way he gravitated towards Hajime with a slight frown.

“Dance with me,” he commanded, and Hajime followed him blindly towards the mesh of anonymous bodies pulsating towards each other to the deep and loud bass, rattling his bones and chest. He was too drunk to care.

Tooru grinned at him and pushed back against Hajime’s chest, hips rolling back into him to the beat. It was filthy, really, the way Hajime’s lips found Tooru’s neck and Tooru titled his head backwards, presenting him the opportunity to explore even more of his skin. Hajime decided it was the single best damn gift he ever received.

His ass, round and almost like a girl’s, really, was coated in black skinny jeans, and pushing back into Hajime’s underwear.

His jeans, his boxer’s, Tooru’s trousers and underwear; four layers between them.

“Fuck, _Tooru_ —” he moaned, and he let his hands press against Tooru’s hips, who took it as an encouragement and grinded harder.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered.

“I don’t care.” Tooru groaned, and the words were spoken against Hajime’s sweat moistened neck. He turned around, then, and directly touched their clothed arousals. His hands wrapped around Hajime’s shoulders, and Hajime snaked his arms to fit around Tooru’s waist, slim and warm under his touch.

“Kiss me,” Tooru said, hastily, “but try to make it cool and tough. I’ve got an image to uphold.”

Hajime hesitated, for a moment. He _did_ have an image to uphold, he was the golden pretty-boy, but it was their last night with their classmates and all.

_Fuck it._

Hajime leaned forward and pressed his lips against Tooru’s. It felt too damn familiar, really, the way Tooru opened his mouth into his and breathed into him, groaning lowly. He tasted of stale cigarettes and alcohol and entirely unpleasant, and yet, Hajime found himself pushing towards him further as Tooru’s tongue pressed against his, and he rolled his hips upwards to meet Hajime’s. Around them, the crowd hollered, screaming and laughing.  

“Take me home.” whispered Tooru into his ear, hands in Hajime’s hair and around his neck.

Hajime did.

He pushed open his front door and climbed up the stairs as Tooru latched onto him, and he felt his back hit his own door as Tooru kissed him, hard. He scrambled to turn on the radio, then, playing some loud music. He’d have died if his parents heard what he was going to do to Hajime’s childhood friend, that innocent, sweet and polite Tooru.

‘ _You ain’t got no money, I ain’t got no time—_ ’

Hajime spun them around, then, and Tooru’s body hit the door with a loud noise. Hajime ran his fingers across Tooru’s back, hitching his shirt up, and he could feel Tooru moan lowly, breath stuttering out of his nose and fanning across Hajime’s face. Hajime tore himself away, then, and licked his lips, numb and hot, before fastening them over Tooru’s neck. He left some marks, there.

“Oh, _fu_ —” Tooru swore, a guttering moan tearing through his words. His head fell back and his mouth gulped for breath. He was so vocal, that night.

‘ _You and me, nobody else— if it can’t be that way then I’ll just be all by myself_ ’

Hajime peppered kisses over his pulse and jaw. His fingers roamed down Tooru’s body, down until he could feel Tooru’s quivering thighs and his bulge pressing against his palm.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tooru groaned, “You’re gonna get me off like this, _Hajime_? Make me come?”

Hajime pulled away then, and stared at him, hooded eyes.

“Yeah.” he said, and voice was raspier than he expected. Tooru mewled, then, and Hajime kneaded his erection. Tooru’s head knocked back, the sound echoing against the door. Hajime spent his time pressing the pad of his thumb at Tooru’s slit, feeling wet pre-cum spread across the head. Tooru writhed.

“Hajime,” he moaned, “God, _Hajime_.”

Hajime brought away his hand and spat into it before slipping it back under Tooru’s trousers. He shifted closer, breath hot and moist over Tooru’s ear.

“You’re so loud,” he said, and it sounded as though it was a compliment, which is was, truly.

“Be careful with your head.” Hajime said, and Tooru bit his lip and stared down at him. His thighs were jumping at Hajime’s rhythmic strokes, and he lifted his hips to meet them.

“God,” Tooru groaned, “Even when— we’re like this, you still look out for me.” he laughed, then, low and raw, “You’re so good to me— so _good_ , Hajime.”

‘ _Of course I am_ ’, Hajime thought, ‘ _I love you, I love you, **I love you** —_’

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tooru moaned, and his words streamed barely above a breath, and he bit at Hajime’s ear lobe, biting it in this sort of primal fascination, “C’mon, Hajime; make me come.” he whined.

Hajime pumped his cock so fast that the skin slapped. It was obscene.

“Oh, shit, _shit_ —” Tooru fell to pieces, then, and his jaw went slack. It was too hot, everything was ignited and inflamed Hajime to work him faster. Tooru moaned without abandon, and he was writhing and panting, bucking into Hajime’s hand. Hajime was sort of worried his parents would hear them, though it didn’t matter, not when Tooru looked so wrecked and felt so good.

He held onto Hajime, desperately, keening as he groaned, “Hajime, don’t stop— don’t _stop_ —”

Hajime stilled his hand, though.

“Pull down your pants.” he said, and Tooru felt air ripping from his lungs.

“ _Fuck_.” he moaned, and he frantically shoved the waistband down, underwear sliding down to the floor with his jeans. He kicked them off his ankles.

“Tooru,” Hajime said, and it was sort of quiet, now. The music from his radio was still pounding, and he could hear Tooru’s ragged breaths, and yet, it was quiet and still.

Hajime swallowed as Tooru titled his head back to grin at Hajime. He bared himself to him, open and eager, with those shaven thighs and endless legs.

“Hajime,” he echoed, “Do you want me like this, Hajime?” he asked, and it took everything in Hajime to not come at the sight of him.

“Yeah,” Hajime praised, and then he wrapped his hand around Tooru once more, gasping desperately as he pressed their lips together, lapping his tongue against the seam of his mouth. Tooru wrenched his trousers down, too, and Hajime flinched a little at his searing touch.

Tooru pooled spit in his palm, then, and cupped along his shaft. Hajime’s knees buckled a little, and he could feel all the oxygen in his lungs escape and collapse towards Tooru.

“You feel so _good_ ,” Tooru moaned, and shifted towards him, cocks aligning, “You always feel so good, Hajime.”

“Tooru—” Hajime moaned, “ _Fuck_.”

“Fuck my hand.” Tooru whispered across Hajime’s skin, “Do it like you’re inside me.”

Hajime’s rationality dissolved into thin air. He clasped their shafts together with underlying urgency and Tooru gasped, staggering heat pooling.

“Yeah,” groaned Tooru and he tightened his fist around their lengths, “Just like that, _fuck_ — _Hajime_ —”

His body seized up.

“ _Shit_ , I can’t— I’m—” Tooru gasped, shaking all over, and before he came, Hajime kissed him. He didn’t know why. It just seemed right.

Tooru’s body snapped up against him, and Hajime squeezed his hand tight as he came, spurting onto his convulsing abdomen and shirt.

“ _Hajime_ —” he breathed, and that was all Hajime needed.

He called Tooru’s name as he came.

Tooru left before the lights came on, and it was somehow even worse than the last time.

 

The next time he saw Tooru was at his place. Tooru had invited the team over, for this small house-party, since his parents weren’t home and the third-years would be going to university or college soon.

Tooru looked so damn happy. He had his glasses on, because his eyes were irritated, he said, and he wanted to get a good look at the team before he’d leave, and all. Hajime didn’t dare presume why his eyes were irritated. It hurt to think about it.

Hajime had a couple of beers, and when Takahiro had gotten out some vodka, it had all gone downhill. Tooru had a lot more to drink that he should have, and Hajime could not even scold him for it, since he did, too. The first-years had a beer, too, though just one. Kentarou made sure of that, since he never drank, anyway.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Tooru had suggested. Hajime felt his heart drop. They’d done this one, at training camp, and it did not end well.

Now, though, it started out innocently enough. Shigeru admitted that he wanted to be captain next year. Tooru got emotional, then, and told him that he’d be great at it. Takahiro chose truth, too, and admitted that he and Issei would be sharing an apartment when they moved to Kyoto for college, together.

It was downhill for Tooru and Hajime after that. Tooru had chosen truth. They all asked him whether he was sad to leave, and he told them that he was, but that it was alright, since he’d still be playing volleyball, and all. Hajime chose truth, too. He had to admit that he would miss them all.

The next time it was Tooru’s turn, he chose dare.

“Kiss Hajime,” Issei commanded lazily, and he took a shot. All eyes turned to them, then.

Tooru laughed, once. Hajime did not.

It was fine, though. Tooru’s lips were softer than he thought they’d be, and it was warm and nice. Tooru grinned at him, then, and Hajime grinned back.

“ _Gross_ ,” Kentarou groaned, “You’re like two old people.”

After that, things were pleasant, really. It was sort of nostalgic. Tooru’s grin was world shattering, and it was directed at Hajime, and it was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

“Was Tooru a good kisser?” he was asked.

“Yeah.” he said, softly, and they held hands the rest of the night.

Later, once everyone left, they lay down together in Tooru’s bed, in the dark.

Hajime thought that Tooru looked simultaneously older and younger when Hajime took his glasses off. There were these slight red indentations on either side of his nose where they sat, and Tooru’s hair slid into his eyes and fanned onto his pillow. Hajime pulled him on top, settling his hands over his hips and thumbing his jutting bones.

“I want to watch you ride my cock,” he said. Tooru’s cheeks flushed red, and he looked so vulnerable it was unlike him, and yet so _like_ him, too.

“I should have known your age would give way to laziness eventually, Hajime,” replied Tooru, though he rolled his hips anyway, and Hajime tightened his grip.

Tooru lifted his hips, then, stretched from Hajime’s fingers and his own, and then took Hajime into him slowly, and every time was just like the first time— it felt as though he was getting used to the feel of him all over again. Tooru’s eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth dropped open to mutter, “Shit— oh, _fuck_.”

Hajime groaned and tilted his head back, running his hands up and down Tooru’s chest and he rode him, watching how his skin moved over his ribs and how it reflects the light shining through the blinds of Tooru’s window.

Tooru fucked himself with an ease that made Hajime presume he’d had a lot of practice, and the hot stab of jealously inching into his chest was something he had to ignore, and it was easy to forget that thought when Tooru reached for Hajime’s hands and pulled them to grab Tooru’s ass in both hands. Hajime squeezed, and Tooru pushed himself deeper into him, then twitched, pleased with the angle.

It was raining outside.

Tooru looked so fragile and vulnerable it made Hajime’s chest ache.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, “I could break you in half.”

Tooru laughed breathlessly.

“I know,” he replied, snaking his arms around Hajime’s neck and tracing his jaw, “I’d let you.”

Outside, thunder cracked, and there was lightening, too, and it created these strange, sudden shadows on Tooru’s face. Hajime jumped a little at the sudden intrusive sound, and Tooru laughed once more.

“It’s a judgement, Hajime— God sees all.” he said.

“It’s a bit late to bring him into this now.” said Hajime, and Tooru hummed in agreement before ducking his head into Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime came after that, and Tooru followed him, slumping against him and lying down with him, resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder.

“I wish this wouldn’t end,” Hajime said slowly trailing his hand through his hair, “I just...”

“I know.” Tooru replied, softly, and it was true. He always did. He knew Hajime better than himself.

 “I do, too.” he said, “We shouldn’t.... we should stop talking, for a while. It’ll make it easier.”

“Okay,” replied Hajime, voice breaking, and it really, _really_ wasn’t, but what could he say? They weren’t dating, or, at least, he was fairly sure they weren’t. It wasn’t common practice to carry on a friends-with-benefits relationship when there’s this aching physical distance between you, Hajime thought. That’s what Tooru meant, too, surely. He didn’t ask, though. He was too damn scared, and besides, out of all the possible people in the whole world Tooru could date, settle down with, care for and love, Hajime was not a favourable option.

Without the immediate context of proximity and all, they’d crash and burn. It’d hurt. It’d hurt too damn much.

That night, it was Hajime who left Tooru in the dark. 

 

They didn’t speak for weeks.

Hajime thought about him a lot, _worried_ about him, and yet, he could not bring himself to march up to his door and tell him everything, confess his innermost thoughts and feelings. He could not even bring himself to talk to him during practice, or send him a text asking whether he was alright, and whether he got into the universities he wanted to, or how his exams went, and whether he got scouted.

He did, though; he _did_ get scouted. Hajime found out from his mother, who found out from Tooru’s mother. She was bragging about it. It was a foreign school, in Europe, Hajime could not remember where, and then there were also some people from an American college who wanted him to join their team. His mother was so damn proud. She wanted him to go. Hajime thought he would, he spoke good English, and besides, what did he have going for him here in Japan? A mistake, a missed chance at Nationals, and petty rivalry.

He’d sent him a text message then, just something short and kind of sweet, Hajime supposed. ‘ _I heard you got scouted_ ’ he wrote, ‘ _Congratulations_ ’.

Tooru read it. He didn’t reply.

‘ _We should talk, Tooru_ ’ continued Hajime. He was feeling sort of brave.

Tooru did not answer him.

‘ _I want to see you before you leave_ ’ finished Hajime, and what else was there to say? What else _could_ he have said?

Tooru didn’t speak to him for three weeks after that.

Hajime received his university letters; he’d gotten into Tokyo. At the back of his mind, he wondered whether Tooru did, too. Regardless, he told his mother, and she was so damn happy and proud and all, and they he packed his bags and left. She drove him there.

“This isn’t so bad,” his mother said as she opened the door to his dorm, “You’ll do fine here, honey, even without Tooru.”

Hajime dropped the bags loudly, with a slight sense of aggression. His mother left soon after.

He was alone.

The way Hajime saw it, everyone got a miracle.

You know, every man gets his wish, and all that. Those stories of kids with cancer going to Disneyland, or old people skydiving. With all those miracles, he thought he’d get his, too, though in that moment, he understood that he already had his miracle. His miracle was that out of all the possible university choices in the world, out of all the schools in Japan, and of all the dorm rooms and all the possible colleges in the whole of Tokyo, Oikawa Tooru ended up having the dorm directly opposite Hajime.

He hadn’t seen him for weeks, and as Hajime opened his door and stared back at Tooru, the only thing he could think of was that he was so damn glad Tooru was his fucking miracle. He wanted to say it, too. He wanted to say a lot of things.

The only words that came out of his mouth were, though, “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Tooru frowned, then.

“I’m a student here, you dumbass.” he replied.

Hajime felt his heart shatter.

“Oh,” he answered dumbly.

“Yeah, ‘ _oh_ ’.” Tooru snorted, “Did you miss me?” he teased.

“Yeah,” Hajime said, and it came out a lot hoarser than he anticipated, “I did.”

Tooru frowned once more, and he picked at the doorframe with his fingers.

“You’re the one who agreed we should stop talking.” he said.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Hajime replied.

“I didn’t expect you to _agree_!” Tooru shouted, almost.

“What the _fuck_?” Hajime was angry now, too, “Why would you say things like that if you don’t mean them? Seriously, what the _fuck_ , Tooru?

Tooru huffed and shrugged. They were silent, then.

“I didn’t know you applied here.” Hajime said in a small voice.

Tooru shifted his stance and held onto the door.

“Well,” Tooru said, “I didn’t know you applied here, either.”

Hajime laughed, then, and Tooru grinned. It was strange, because he looked so _honest_.

Tooru laughed, too, and all Hajime could think was ‘ _I am so in love, I am so in love— **I am so in love**._ ’

“Do you want to come over?” Tooru said, softly, “I could use your help unpacking.”

Hajime grinned, then.

“Sure,” he said, and he took Tooru’s hand, then, warm and soft in his; zero layers between them.

They were fine.


End file.
